


A Snowy Winter Palace Sickfic

by DiamondsandPhoenixFire



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Break the Haughty, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Inky is team mom, Nonbinary Character, Sickfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Whump, nonbinary OC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2020-05-19 09:23:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19354129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiamondsandPhoenixFire/pseuds/DiamondsandPhoenixFire
Summary: Me: Y'know what I'm gonna finally get this sucker posted!Also me: [stares at title box halfway till the next Age]I’m writing a fic wherein everyone talks about their feelings while their inhibitions are lowered because I was in the mood for a little Break the Haughty, I never halfass anything, and it’s a better coping mechanism than some other things I could be doing. So enjoy!Contains Trespasser spoilers.





	1. Waking up

Cassandra surfaces from sleep, her head pounding. She pulls herself into a sitting position, swaying slightly on the way. It’s too bright and too early. The light stings her eyes and her head feels full of wisps of clouds. Why are the curtains open?

She pushes up from the bed, slowly swinging her weight forward. Her vision wavers. She stumbles blearily to the curtains and tugs at one to close it. The fine fabric weighs heavily in her hands. Cassandra is too infirm to be patient and yanks it savagely.

The glint off her armor catches her eye as the light vanishes. That, at least, is familiar. She stumbles toward it. The metal is cool. Why is she so hot? Winter, still winter. How nice it must feel to be encased in her familiar, cool armor.

Cassandra picks up the breastplate. She sways and tumbles onto the bed. Rolling over, she positions the metal against her nightgown and begins to sort out the buckles.

When one of the attendants, Tallen, opens the door to wake Cassandra for her first appointment, the light stabs her eyes and she startles awake, half-wearing her breastplate.

Tallen stands, hesitant. Cassandra rubs her eyes, brushing a line of sweat away from them. The elf pushes the door open wider and steppes into the dimmed room, the light from the hall trailing in.

“The Inquisitor is here to see you and Divine Victoria,” Tallen announces.

“Thank you,” Cassandra replies, trying not to flinch at the noise. Groggy. Even to her, her voice sounds heavy and sick. She clears her throat and it burns.

“As always, I would be happy to assist – “

“No thank you,” Cassandra answers. “Please give me my privacy as I get ready.” Her voice is still raspy.

“Lady Pentaghast, if there is something wrong,” Tallen tries, “we are here to assist you in whatever manner you require.”

 The light let in from the hallway, uncomfortable from the start, renews the throbbing in Cassandra’s head.

“Bring water,” she croaks. "Cold." Tallen turns to leave immediately. Cassandra balls her fists and pulls herself up. Her muscles ache like it’s already been a long day. The Inquisitor will want to go out and give her sword arm some practice, she knows. She looks longingly at her armor and heaves herself up.

After stumbling at first, she props herself up on the wall. It’s fine. She’ll be fine.

Tallen returns with a jug of water and a glass to find her nearly dressed. She sets everything down on the bedside table. “Lady Pentaghast?”

“Aah, what?” Cassandra jumps at the sound. She turns to look at Tallen, holding her head.

“I cannot make my other appointments today. Give my apologies,” Cassandra announces.

Tallen’s lip twitches. She speaks so carefully, even ill and dripping fever sweat. The warrior’s face had paled so much it was almost glowing in the dimness. “Yes, Cassandra.”


	2. Inky’s arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever sit around moping because your stomach hurts and then decide to torment fictional characters? Because I do.

The Inquisitor whirls in, all eight feet of them grinning toothily and smelling of the wilds where they’ve been hiding out. 

"You've been in good spirits since we disbanded," Leliana remarks. 

“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe," Herah replies. "No more posturing, no more glassy smiles. The only diplomat I need by my side is Josie. And I can finally take a piss without someone knocking on the door needing something. You're looking so well, Leliana. The position suits you? The clothes certainly do." 

Leliana's smile has unfrozen for her old friend. "For certain. The Hero of Ferelden and I are quite happy here now. Although, we have both caused quite a stir in our own ways." 

The Inquisitor roars laughing. "Oh, how heads must turn. A reformer Divine with an elven mage at her side."

Leliana glances down at her fingers, tracing the Chantry symbols on her robes. "Sometimes, I think people forget who ended the last Blight, faster than ever before."

"I'm sure they do. Like they already begin to forget me.” Amusement, Cassandra registers, more than disappointment. 

“You like it that way.” 

Herah shrugs. “Well, I did the best I could, what I believed was right, however it is remembered. And it was time for a change before I got tired or sloppy. It reminds me of something Hawke said to me, about looking out from his balcony at all those people counting on him. If I have an off day now, people don’t die.”

Cassandra is aware that this mention of Hawke should upset her, but she only has a foggy feeling that the indignation should be there, like she had expected pain despite the numbing medicine when she had a tooth pulled.

“You were a good leader. Perhaps, after the Inquisition, something else will need your expertise.” 

“If I don’t end up being a wanted criminal there. Oh, some of the stories they’ve been telling since I disappeared!“ With that, they turn to Cassandra.

Through her feverish fog, she barely registers the Inquisitor's affection. Cassandra allows a crushing hug and defers some questions she can’t even begin to think to answer.

“Eager to get going? I knew you would be. Come on, some other familiar faces are waiting for us by the door. Let’s see what we can turn the Bull loose on, huh?”

The Iron Bull is in the middle of telling Dorian and Varric a war story when Cassandra and Herah reach them. Leliana had begged out due to a busy schedule, making it a group of six, but had given them tips on where to find a good fight.

Almost immediately after they set out, Cassandra begins to struggle to concentrate on the road ahead. The trail is snowy already, and the sky looks full to bursting with more. Her mount, luckily, is more than happy to trot along after Dorian’s gelding. The noise of the hooves makes it even more difficult to make out what’s being said and she quickly falls to the back of the group. She wipes sweat out of her hair where it’s short, holding her helmet under her other arm. In the distance, an unmistakeable roar echoes.

"A dragon?!" Herah shouts. "I could take her with one hand tied behind my back. Let's go, Bull!" With that, they slap his beefy shoulder and both go barreling off. 

"Cover the mage!" Cassandra shouts through her fog, hearing the sound as though it came through water.


	3. Tending to Cassandra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra worsens and the group returns to the palace to take care of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COVID-19 homebound writers gang represent

Cassandra crumples. No one sees the blow that fells her. “Cassandra’s down!” someone hollers into the melee, and her friends form a ring around her. The cacophony of battle sets her head to throbbing again. Squeezing her eyes shut, she waits. Snow sprays her as her companions strike and dodge. The noise buffets her, over and over, until it all blurs together. She squeezes her eyes shut, against the flung snow as well as the white light that sets her head to throbbing.

Once the last of the bandits have been dispatched, Herah crouches beside her. “I’ve never seen you go down like that. Are you okay?”

“I’m… perfectly alright,” Cassandra answers.

“You look a little pale, Seeker,” Varric teases.

“I am out of practice. It is the exertion, nothing more.”

And they continue walking. Herah is humming contentedly, their one arm swinging at their side. Bull’s mare trots along happily behind the Inquisitor. Cassandra notices that she has been folded toward the center of the group. 

“Herald,” she announces.

“Yes?”

“I do not feel well.”

And before she could turn, the warrior falls forward in the saddle, clutching her head.

The Inquisitor drops her staff and rushes back to her, swearing under their breath. Cassandra’s head lolls back. She’s unconscious. The Herald presses a palm against her sweaty forehead.

It’s blisteringly warm. Herah’s lip twitches. She looks around to see concerned friends surrounding her. “She’s ill.”

Varric lets out a breath. “No way, Cassandra gets sick? I would’ve figured she’d just menace the germs away.” His worry is strident underneath the humor.

Herah lifts her friend, her unshakable comrade-in-arms, onto her shoulder. On the side where she still has a hand to hold her. “We should hurry back.”

The Divine and Josephine are waiting for them once they return. “Cassandra! Has she been poisoned?” Leliana asks, rushing toward her friends.

“She’s ill, she just collapsed,” Adaar replies.

“You can bring her to my rooms. They’re right here, in the heart of the building. Hers are all the way out near the edges.” Leliana’s thin fingers reach up to touch Cassandra’s face, gently, leaving a trail of displaced sweat. “I have a tub. I will send servants out to gather snow.” With that, the Divine is gone.

The party hurries toward her suite, Josephine trailing after the Inquisitor, clucking worriedly. Herah grips Cassandra, still passed out, tightly against her broad shoulders.

Once there, Adaar sets the warrior in the metal tub, still fully clothed and armored. The mage examines the buckles and straps on Cassandra’s armor. She doesn’t want to risk undoing them the wrong way and causing some kind of damage, so she steps back.

Josephine, Varric, Iron Bull, and Dorian recede from the doorway, trying not to crowd her. “Dry clothes,” adds the Inquisitor, ever practical in a crisis. “Someone needs to find her dry clothes.”

“I have some,” Josephine offers, uncertain, “but… do you think they would fit? She is taller than I am…” And less pleased with gilt.

“It can’t hurt,” the Inquisitor replies gently.

As the ambassador dashes out into the next room, a pair of servants enters through the open door, buckets of snow in every hand, including those of the Divine trailing after. As Leliana helps the servants dump the snow into the tub, Josephine returns, depositing the plainest nightgown she has on the chair nearby.

“Thank you, Josie,” Leliana says as the ambassador leaves. “I am sure she would not fit in mine.” To everyone else, “That snow should take the edge off, but when she wakes someone should get her out of her heavy armor. I will stay. She will be most comfortable with me.”

The Inquisitor nods, and shooes the accrued gaggle of worried friends out of the room.

Cassandra stirs. “Do you remember what happened?” Leliana asks.

One hand reaches up to wipe rivulets of melting ice away. Her eyes open. She shudders, coughing hoarsely. “Do you remember where you are?”

“I am cold,” Cassandra replies.

“We should get you out of that heavy armor. Can you stand?”

Cassandra pushes herself up into a sitting position. Snow clings to her hair where it falls loose from its braid. “With help.”

Leliana kneels beside the tub and wraps her arms around the former Right Hand.

Cassandra steadies herself on the side of the tub and staggers upright. She sways. Leliana stabilizes her. Cassandra rests her chin on the top of the Divine’s head and breathes out. Her hands trace the familiar metal clasps on her familiar armor, careful pressure popping them loose. Soon, she stands only in her padding and underclothes.

The Divine hands her a towel and the nightgown. Cassandra shivers and stares at it. “This isn't mine.”

“None of them knew their way back to your room, and I stayed here to tend to you. It’s Josie’s spare.”

“I was certain that I would be able to endure a day out with old friends.”

“All the same, it was a foolish risk.” Leliana pauses, presses her thin fingers to Cassandra’s cheek. “You are definitely still feverish.”

Cassandra sighs. “Why now?” she mutters. “I haven’t been sick in years, not since Anthony-“

Leliana rubs her shoulder, then asks, “Privacy?” Cassandra nods, and Leliana turns away. Cassandra steadies herself on the back of the chair as she changes into the dry clothes. She wraps the towel around her shoulders to catch the drips from her hair.

“How does it fit?” Leliana asks.

“Short in back, but cozy. Thank Josephine for me.”

“I will. Now, time for you to rest, as you ought to have done all day.” She smiles, knowing she wouldn’t have missed an opportunity to go out in Cassandra’s place.

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a Divine Cass drabble about her resistance to giving up her armor for Chantry robes, but turned into a Divine Leliana fic that I got too invested in. I wanted to write both of them, and if Lil is Divine, then Cass serves as an advisor for a while. 
> 
> It also started a year before I posted it. Whoops.
> 
> Please do not expect a plot. Just snuggles.


End file.
